


Chaser

by baethoven



Category: Baby Driver (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Drunk Sex, Everyone is of age, F/M, First Time, Lightly Implied Daddy Kink, M/M, This feels nastier than it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-21 20:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11364663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baethoven/pseuds/baethoven
Summary: Doc has always had a soft spot for his Baby.





	Chaser

**Author's Note:**

> Read end notes for concerns about tags.

When Doc first crossed paths with Baby he was nothing more than a runt with earbuds gawking at him from across the street. Maybe it was arrogance to park his Mercedes on the street and think Atlanta crime knew better than to even glance it's way, but Doc didn't think much about the kid until he'd jumped his car and sped off in the opposite direction. He was spitting mad chasing off after him, trying to figure out which of his rivals put the kid up to it, and was only a little relieved to see his car floating down the river. The kid didn't even look guilty, just tapping his hands on his thighs to some song blaring through his speakers, kicking his legs out over the edge of the bridge.

"The hell was that?" Doc asked, because it had to be.

The kid shrugged, and the tapping switched tempo, went from three to four seamlessly.

"You're trying to tell me stealing cars and driving them into rivers is a normal Tuesday for you?"

A small trill of a human was all he got in reply.

"Damn it kid," Doc said, and ripped the ear buds out. "You sent my car, a trunk load of paper and some plans floating away. What the fuck are you listening to that's more important than fearing for your life?"

He put one of the earbuds in, and- "Very funny kid," Doc found he meant it. CCR was singing 'rolling on the river' just as the four foot nothing of a shrimp was smiling up at him.  He had little cuts, old enough to have scarred but not old enough for the boy to have forgotten how he'd got then, and beneath the droopy-eyed set of his eyes was a focus Doc had never seen before.

"What's your name?" Doc asked.

"Baby," was the answer.

 

* * *

 

Doc liked to think his talents went beyond a knack for armed robbery and that he had a keen eye for people . It didn't matter if he could figure the best routes in and out of a bank and coordinate all the logistics of the hit if the team he assemble was an incompatible mess of ego and arrogance. If a team couldn't work well, he wouldn't just be loosing out on his money, he could very well be losing his life. He could fill voids with the right people, and on the off chance they failed him, well Doc was able to recreate those voids just as well.

As it happened, Doc was in need of a driver. He'd had poor luck with the last few, dare devils who weren't ingenious on the spot, people suggested from the criminals he employed but none vetted until they were fucking up his jobs. Doc had longed to have someone a bit steadier, someone he could shape and mold right to his specifications. The more he chewed on it, the more Doc kept thinking about young Baby, snot faced and all of ten years old, and already successfully boosting cars for the hell of it. 

Doc was nothing without his ingenuity, and decided it was time to take a hands on approach to his driver position.

It didn't take long for Doc to hunt Baby down. He sat himself down in a ritzy cafe, right in the middle of Atlanta's business center and across the street from a particularly enticing yellow Porsche. Whoever left it there had the same audacity Doc had two weeks prior. He sipped on espresso and waited. It wasn't long, maybe a handful of hours, until little Baby, earphones in and face determined, saddled up and began to work. He nearly got the car open, the quick little devil, but Doc made it across the street just in time.

"If you're so determined to steal cars, I think it's best you do it for me."

Baby froze, refusing to turn around, and then tried to make a dash for it. Doc was quicker, grabbed him by the neck of his hoodie. 

"Baby," he said sternly, mockingly, talking down to the runt of a kid, "You sent about a million's worth floating down the river. You've accrued quite a debt to me, and now you're trying to steal a Porsche. Why shouldn't I go take you down to the police station and let them lock you away til you're twenty five?"

Baby stopped his struggling, whipped his head around to glare at Doc. "No one will believe you."

Doc leaned down, leveled the kid with his nastiest glare. "Oh, I think they will. Unless you make right by me."

Baby blinked, trying to parse out the words for himself. "How?"

"Work for me," Doc shrugged. "I'll put you to task, and even give you a little living money as you pay off your debts. Train you too."

"I don't need training," Baby said stubbornly. 

"Everybody needs training. I'm tough but I'm fair. If you love boosting cars and speeding so much, I'll give you all the opportunity you'll ever need."

Baby considered it, his small face screwed up in concentration

"Can I play my tunes?" Baby asked. One earbud dangled down, bumping him against the heart as Doc let him go.

"Makes no difference to me," Doc said, grinning down at him. He outstretched one hand, an open palm as warm as his greetings got. "I'm Doc. Do we have a deal?"

"Sure, Doc," Baby said. His clasp was small but his grip firm. Doc liked the kid already.

 

* * *

 

The kid learned fast. "Damn," Doc would curse to himself, watching Baby take tight turns at high velocity with the ease of a pro. "Jesus Christ," when Baby came back with the cars Doc wanted in the third of the time he allotted the kid. He was endlessly impressed, his expectations shattered with every task he set Baby to. 

"When're you gonna put the kid on a real job?" Buddy had asked after Baby trotted in from his latest steal. "You're wasting his talents on Grand Theft Auto. Put Baby on something real."

Doc glanced to Buddy. Despite appearances- disheveled hair, black clothes and a coke habit that could sustain any mid-league cartel- Buddy was astute in a white-collar crime kind of way. If he hadn't spectacularly fallen from grace and lost all his golden Wall Street contacts, he could have been a decent rival. However, Doc liked him best under the heel of his boot. 

"We do need a driver for that IRS job," Doc mused. Baby drifted the car to a graceful stop, wheels in a side spin and burning rubber. 

"Showboat," Buddy called out, face wide split with a grin. 

"Baby," Doc said, stern as could be to hide his amusement at the kid's antics, "I got a job for you. It's time you start paying off that debt."

Baby took off his shades but left in the earbuds, stared up at Doc with something that might have been eagerness. "Ok. What do you need?"

 

* * *

 

Baby turned out to be  _excellent_ , just the kind of consistency and brilliance Doc needed on all his jobs. He could get himself out of any tight spot. Doc didn't care about the kid's eccentricities, about the music or the shades or the ringing in his ears, not with all the paper that was being raked in. Doc was getting richer with each gig, and with it a reputation that went from fearsome to ironclad. His connections were more eager to do business with him, what with the near certain returns he was making. It didn't matter the variety of teams he organized, with Baby as his one constant it was guaranteed to go off without a hitch. At the end of each night he'd take Baby's share and give him some living money and encouragements. Doc didn't mind the inevitable truth that with each run Baby had to make his termination of service was nearing closer and closer. They were a team, Baby insisted over the years, cautious sometimes but surer as Baby grew older and begun to make a reputation for himself. 

Before Doc knew it, his Baby was a man, taller than Doc by good measure but loyal and always willing to do the work. Doc didn't worry about losing his best driver; he had no intention of letting his lucky charm slip away.

 

* * *

 

It was the night of Baby's twenty-first birthday when things took a turn into something distinctly _fucked_.

They'd just finished a job, as clean as one ever got; minimal shots fired, not a single dead civilian and the cops shaken off easy enough. Doc usually liked to disperse funds and then disperse the team- he didn't particularly enjoy the company of criminals, he never said he wasn't a hypocrite- but Buddy and Darling were harping Baby about his age, and before Doc knew it the warehouse was in a uproar.

"It's Baby's birthday!" Darling squealed in delight, legs kicking out from her perch on Buddy's lap. "How old you turning?"

Baby smiled in his goofy half crooked way that made Doc smirk without fail everytime, and mumbled out in his low rumble drawl of a Georgian accent, "Twenty-One."

It was settled then and there. Buddy and Darling tumbled off to purchase liquor and Doc gave Baby an additional wad of hundreds than normal. "Get yourself a cake and a few pizzas, and maybe a new iPod, _birthday boy_ ," Doc ordered, eyeing the small blush on Baby's neck and following it all the way up to the kids cheeks. He liked Baby best after a job, loose and pleased and walking through the streets in perfect synchronization to the tunes he had selected on whatever dingy second hand iPod he'd coordinated for the job. Baby stood ramrod straight, Doc's perfect lucky charm, and nodded to the beat.

"Thanks Doc," he replied, and not missing a beat or a cue swiveled on the heel of his sneaker and skipped out of the building.

Three hour's later Buddy and Darling were back with freshly powdered noses and enough alcohol to keep a frat party going. Baby rolled in just after, four pizza boxes and a Costco cake precariously stacked in one hand while he thumbed the click wheel of yet another second hand iPod. He set everything down and drifted over to the table of liquor, eyeing it nervously over the top of rose colored glasses.

"That's an awful lot," he commented, voice thick and nervous. Doc, who was seated across the room finishing up letters to a few contacts and shuffling cash into envelopes, glanced up at the sound.

"Is _my_ Baby nervous?" he called out.

"You were driving ninety through an interchange at rush hour, kid," Buddy reminded him, "this here is a little less dangerous than that."

"I'm just saying, I ain't never drink before," Baby explained, "and that's a lot of drink."

That settled things for Doc. He put aside his work and joined the party proper, fraternizing with the hired help be damned.

"You know what they say about your twenty-first, don't you Baby? If you don't puke on it, means you're an alcoholic already," Buddy said, Darling's laughter pealing out after him like bells.

Buddy knew Baby but not enough to know that was a sore spot, what with the abusive father and all. Doc swooped in before Baby could work himself up.

"Patently untrue, of course. But it is a rite of passage to drink oneself near enough to alcohol poisoning as one can get," Doc said. He gripped Baby's shoulder with a reassuring squeeze just this side of possessive. Baby glanced down at him with those wide, trusting eyes and nodded. Doc smiled, pleased with the boy, and nodded over towards the speakers that collected dust in anticipation of a day like this.

"Go put on some tunes, Baby,"  Doc said. "I'll fix up the first round."

Buddy whistled out low in mock astonishment. "My, my, look at Doc being all _accommodating._ "

Doc grabbed for a bottle of tequila, scrutinizing it. "I've my moments, Buddy, but you apparently _don't_. Three hundred thousand between you and Darling and you buy Jose?"

"It's his first time, didn't want to  be wasting top shelf if it wasn’t gonna stay down by the end of the night!"

"All the more reason to get the best," Doc said, untwisting the cap while Darling lined up four shot glasses, "if it's really Baby's first time."

Just then the air was cut by the blast of sound, Baby's iPod cranked too high on the AUX. When it adjusted Colin Blunstone crooned over a groove of beats and breathes.

"The Zombies," Darling breathed. "A good start."

"It'll pick up in pace," Baby shrugged, sliding up short two feet from Doc. "The playlist, I mean."

Doc distributed the shots, the last of which to Baby with just a little extra brush of fingers, if only to watch Baby's eyes flash and his throat bob around a shy swallow.

"I see a plethora of libations," Doc drawled, scanning back at the table and then back up to Darling and Buddy, "but I don't see a single goddamn chaser."

"Chaser?" Baby perked up.

"Nothing to do with cars, Baby," Darling said, already sugar sweet, "it's something you drink to make the bite go away."

"Which was apparently forgotten. Nary a lime in sight," Doc grumbled.

"Don't you sweat it, Doc, we'll be Baby's chaser," Darling suggested. A quick, sultry look was passed between Buddy and Darling and Doc found he didn't like it one bit.

"To Baby," Doc said, lifting his shot towards his lucky charm, his golden boy, _his_ Baby, "May he find the scraps of dignity tomorrow after tonight's debauchery."

The group threw back their shots. It went down smooth enough for bottom shelf, but Baby gagged beside him.

"Lord," he spluttered, and if it wasn't  _the cutest goddamn-_ "I see what you mean about a chaser."

Darling stepped up and wrapped a finely manicured nail into Baby's golden locks. "Come here, doll, let me help," and then her lips were on Baby's, her tongue opening up Baby's mouth and pushing in, licking away the fire of cheap tequila. When she pulled back, Baby's lips were shiny from her lip-gloss, eyes glazed and hooded. Buddy howled and pushed another shot into Baby's hands.

"Who needs a lime when you've got us?"

Another round was taken and Doc watched in a sour mix of amusement and anger as Buddy gripped Baby's chin, kissing him deeper than Darling and pulling a little whimper from deep down in Baby.

When Darling made to pour a third round, her eyes devilish when they landed on Doc, he decided to step in. "Two shots are a good start, but I think it's time for whiskey."

"Gonna get the boy sick," Darling chided but obliged them, pouring two generous fingers for the three of them and a full solo cup for Baby. Doc glanced at Baby, not quite swaying but already melting to his soles.

"Never in a million years would I hurt our Baby," Doc swore.

 

* * *

 

The night ended around ten with Baby swaying in Darling's arms and Buddy jeering about how poor a pair the two of them made. Baby's rhythm was impeccable, one of his finer traits as a driver, but his coordination shot to shit. Darling was nearly propping him up by the time Buddy choked out the last of his laughter and stepped between them.

"I think Baby's done for the night," Buddy crooned, scooping Darling in his arms and letting Baby stumble by himself.

"Nuh uh," Baby slurred.

"Take care of this mess, Doc," Buddy instructed. Doc was sitting on a table, jacket discarded and shirt sleeves rolled up, sipping on what must have been his sixth glass of whiskey. He'd been glued to that desk for the better part of the night, too prideful to stumble in his intoxication and content on watching Baby get passed back and forth between Darling and Buddy's arms.

"No promises," Doc replied, smirking behind his last sip of whiskey.

Doc waited for lift doors to close behind the pair before staggering over to Baby. He was still swaying where Darling and Buddy had abandoned him, the last dying notes of something Doc recognized from the 80's fading away. He was gorgeous, eyes closed and face slack, still moving to a long gone beat.

"Come on, Baby, time to put you to bed," Doc said.

"No," Baby replied. "Got one last song on the playlist."

Doc never liked being told no, especially not from his driver, but it was the kid's birthday after all, and Doc knew how important it was for Baby to coordinate with his music. Beside, Doc was feeling just a tad indulgent.

"Alright, one last song and then it's to bed."

As if timed down to his very words, the next song started. It was one of those old Solomon Burke songs, miserable in its sexuality, tortured in its need. Intoxicating without the need for any booze or smack. Baby grinned down and draped his arms over Doc's shoulders, swayed a little closer.

"Dance with me," he said. No question to it, a little bossy and needy, and Doc was weak for it, just let it happen and snaked his arms around Baby's waist.

_When your baby leaves you all alone, and nobody calls you on the phone-_

Something stirred in that small place between their bodies, shifting the air between them, making it hotter to be apart. Doc wasn't sure who moved to close it, but it was cool relief once their bodies were pushed together.

_Don't you feel like crying? Well here I am honey, come on, cry to me._

Doc's hands wandered under the hem of Baby's sweatshirt, down the layers to the bare skin of his hips. He dug in, couldn't have helped it even if he tried, always greedy to a fault. Baby groaned, an airy sound that buzzed in Doc's ears.

"Baby?" he asked. The swaying had stopped but the music was still going. Baby stood there in Doc's grip, flushed and panting. His thick lashes fanned down and he stared at Doc like he was dying from something terrible. That paternal instinct that always came out when Baby needed help fit well with the fire in his veins, and Doc spared them both the torment and kissed the boy.

Doc would have sworn on the good book itself that he'd never once thought about Baby in such a way, but it would be a damning lie. As the boy became a man, exceptionally talented and years ahead any of his peers, Doc found himself crossed between his opposing desires to cultivate Baby or fuck him. Professionalism always won out, but his sense of propriety didn't stop him from indulging in the errant thought that passed through him in late hours of the night, imagining what it'd be like to have Baby under his hand in the most literal interpretation of the word. In real time Doc couldn't even remember what his previous speculations had been, his brain clearing out the hypotheticals and searing into place the reality of it- Baby's needy moans, the clumsy clack of his teeth against Doc's, the first few tentative swipes of tongue. It was nearly too much for Doc, and yet still _not enough_.

"Come on," he finally said after an indeterminable amount of time, Solomon Burke long since quieted. They stumbled to the back office Doc kept, sparsely furnished with a just a desk and a couch for the long nights Doc was occasionally burdened with. It was long enough to hold him from head to toe, and spacious enough that when Doc sat back and patted his lap, Baby could easily straddle him.

"This what you want for your birthday, Baby?" Doc asked. Baby nodded eagerly, tried to lean down and steal another dozen kisses, but Doc held him back with a firm hand.

"It's a special one. You can ask for anything."

Doc saw the exact moment the offer clicked in Baby's head and smiled as the younger man shuddered atop him. "What do you want, Baby?"

Baby wasted no time with predicating, just gasped out, "Touch me Doc, please?"

Doc dragged him back in, kissed and kissed his boy while he undid the clasp of Baby's jeans. When he slipped Baby out of them he thought he might die from the whine that came out with it. When Baby choked out, "Want to touch, too," it almost ended Doc on the spot.

It wasn't the most elegant of encounters, and took quite of bit of coordination not easily achieved at their level of inebriation, but it was worth it when Baby came all over his knuckles, choking out Doc's name like it hurt to say. That's all it took for Doc to follow after, kissing Baby while he shook from it. And then, easy as anything, the both fell back and fell asleep. 

 

* * *

 

Doc woke with a headache and an immediate sense of wrong. He spent most of his nights alone and awoke in the mornings to the dark thanks to the black out curtains of his luxurious flat. Sun was pouring in through the windows and a hot pair of lips were snoring into his ears. Doc peeked down his body, saw his legs snug in the couch and a jean clad set dangling over the arm rest. Doc extricated himself from Baby's vice like grip and made his way into the warehouse, found Baby's jacket and iPod and draped them over the driver like a blanket. Then, he went into the restroom to give himself a long, hard look.

He looked hard rode and a bright red bruise with a nasty purple shadow chasing the edges was peaking out from beneath his collar. It matched to the memory of Baby's mouth, and when Doc prodded his fingers into it, he thought he could remember the way Baby's tongue had felt there beneath the pain. 

"Fuck," he bit out at his reflection. "You're a fucking professional."

When he left the bathroom Baby was sitting upright on the couch, shades on and looking a little worse for wear. "I think I might vomit," he said sadly. 

Doc had anticipated that much, brought with him one of the half filled pizza box and threw it on Baby's lap. He uncapped a water and set it on the coffee table infront of Baby.

"Your job is to eat three slices of that pizza, drink that whole bottle of water, and come to terms with the harsh reality of hangovers."

Baby nodded weakly and immediately began shoveling the pizza in his mouth, salmonella be damned. Doc scrutinized every single bite, watched to make sure the kid would hold it down instead of spreading it all over his office via projectile vomit. Once the water bottle was killed and Baby looked a degree less miserable, Doc decided it was time to talk.

"While you still have a debt to pay off, know that I don't expect anything beyond your most excellent work," Doc said, the taste of it on his tongue bitter and cheap. Baby stared up at him and even through the tint of his sunglasses Doc thought he could see the understanding and patience Baby used to finish his tasks. "When you've finally paid off you're debts, we can renegotiate the terms of your service. 

Baby sat there, quiet and comprehending, and then that small smile that felt like a ray of sunshine broke out. Maybe it was out of relief, but a small part of Doc was convinced that Baby was looking forward to the renegotiation of terms too. 

"Still a team?" Baby asked as he picked himself up off the couch. 

Doc shook his head, trying to clear away the persistent affection that seemed to fog him up when Baby was nearby. "Still a team," he confirmed, and before he could do something foolish like lick the taste of last night from Baby's lips, he sent him out of his office with a stern threat of bodily harm if Baby didn't keep himself properly hydrated. "Can't have my Baby failing me," he warned. "I won't hear of it."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Doc and Baby have a drunken sexual encounter on Baby's 21st birthday. Doc does not exhibit any sexual desires towards Baby when he was a kid. 
> 
> I'm already terrible into Doc/Baby and cannot get them out of my head.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please come talk Baby Driver with me on [my tumblr!](celloing.tumblr.com)


End file.
